


pleiades

by Quixotism



Category: Aquaman (2018)
Genre: Coda, Contemplation, Gen, Imprisonment, character exploration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 09:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17322506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixotism/pseuds/Quixotism
Summary: the atlanteans say there is no such thing as stagnation underwaterororm is visited by four people he knows in prison





	pleiades

**Author's Note:**

> unbetaed, short exploration of orm's character, let me live.

_“The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how they love them while they’re still alive_  
— Optimus Prime

* * *

the atlanteans say there is no such thing as stagnation underwater. nothing is ever still or gives the impression of stillness. they say you could stand anywhere in the ocean and the world is still spinning around you, alive, alive, alive. even when surrounded by swathes of dead coral and rotting reefs, the water continues to churn, ever-present, alive, alive, alive. 

this cell has none of that feeling. or perhaps it is the clock that has stopped on orm, freezing him in this moment of time. water turning, a whirlpool with no discernible direction. his armor has been stripped away and all he wears are loose, dark robes. orm drifts from corner to corner, looking out from the window. 

there is no such thing as stagnation but orm could feel parts of himself peeling off. most people would use this time for rediscovery. and yet, orm cannot shake the bone-deep impression that this is all he is. shallow waters and churning pools.

* * *

when mera arrives, she is so unchanged that orm must squint to get the measure of her. mera is unchanged in all of this and he is impressed by that anchor-weight of her character. it does not budge or balk. it sinks like a stone, cutting through all the sea has to offer. 

mera arrives and orm wonders why. victors need not give words to the fallen. it is not their way. but she is here and so he bows, loose at the edges. 

you don't seem angry, she notices.

orm's smile is watered down, what for?

everything, was her reply. he had expected that from her. 

_everything_ encompasses too much to be fulfilled by anger. everything is pieces of their childhood, drifting apart like flotsam and jetsam, everything is the empty spaces where two people once stood, everything is the shadow of his father behind him and a mother in front. _everything_ is too much for a man who now lives in ignominy. 

so he says, everything didn't belong to me. 

orm isn't sure any of it did.

* * *

on the surface, they talk about footsteps. the weight of each step upon the ground, the mark of your presence on the earth. 

here, they were almost formless in their wake. they return to the tide, sea-foam white. 

forgotten.

* * *

his mother talks to him about stars. 

as she traces circles into his palms, she talks about the pleiades sisters. seven stars that combine to form one bright light, a light that put all others to shame. sometimes people see six, sometimes seven, but there is never any doubt they are all there, united, she says. her hands are rough like sandpaper when they were once smooth as pearl. orm notes all the differences, from the dip in her chin to the luster of her hair. it should bother him and it _does_ , in some unimaginable way to know that his childhood was chipping away, rust corroded. and yet, he can muster none of the feeling. 

we are still connected, her fingers seem to say, following the lines that are etched on his palms. atlanteans call them current-lines, there to show the marks of the ocean on them, never-fading. 

she returns to the surface after her visit. his own fingers retrace the paths. he thinks this is love but he's not sure.

he's not sure anymore.

* * *

arthur had been an unexpected visit. orm briefly wonders if their mother had put them up to it. his brother swims like a minnow, not always used to being under for long periods of time. the crown seems to sit heavily upon his brow, furrowing his brows deeper. 

you look well, arthur says finally, not at all awkward.

thank you, came orm's polite reply. 

arthur grins. his teeth look sharp. but it does not make orm uneasy. which is strange. this situation should make him uncomfortable, should rattle his core. orm almost smiles back. arthur's tattoos distorting under the light of water. 

then arthur asks, how're you holding up little brother? 

little brother. the words catch in his throat. 

well enough, orm says instead of what he wanted to say, words too buried deep, i suppose i should thank you for my continued existence.

arthur waves it off, nah, mom would have been pissed at me.

orm hums, she would have been. 

the pause that lingers does not hurt either of them. both their eyes are like shallow waters. 

and it didn't seem right, arthur says, low tide, to have her and leave you on your own.

_it didn't seem right_ echoes in his head, sonorous. orm merely swallows, water stagnant on his tongue.

* * *

the land is beautiful, his mother once said as she held him as a child. she whispered it like a secret. it was their secret, his and hers. 

the sky was the colour of your eyes. 

when she was tossed aside, his father placed his hand on his shoulder and said, the land takes from all of us.

and orm closed his eyes from the sky.

* * *

the last person orm expected to see in his cell was vulko. it surprised him, seeing the wizened man enter and for the first time in weeks, orm feels the stirrings of rage in his belly. it runs through his system, electric-bright. 

but orm says nothing. vulko seems to expect that, his smile dry and sardonic.

you have a good view, he says.

orm says nothing, tight-lipped. vulko almost seems to falter.

you've let go of everything else, he casually mentions, but not me? 

it's cruelty at its finest. cruel for vulko to ask as if he had no knowledge. cruel when vulko had been by his side for years, even after his father perished and rested his hand on the small of orm's back as he grieved for another parent. cruel for vulko who watched him grow and said _nothing_. 

so orm says nothing in turn. 

the smile flickers, but it doesn't die. orm wished it did. he wanted it to go. why was he so angry now? eventually vulko leaves and the churning never ceases. closure, it seems, will not come to them any time soon.

* * *

_seven stars. sometimes eight. some forgotten_

orm draws stars on his palm.


End file.
